


Sleep On Me

by kamwashere, thepurplemu24



Series: Carry On Countdown 2020 [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz pov, COC Day 5: Sleepless, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2020, Character Study, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Insomnia, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27779665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamwashere/pseuds/kamwashere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepurplemu24/pseuds/thepurplemu24
Summary: “And when I felt myself slipping too far, I held on to the one thing I’m always sure of—Blue eyes.Bronze curls.”— Baz, Carry On (p.176).Baz tries to sleep despite his hunger. Emphasis on “tries.”
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026772
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Sleep On Me

It’s been five days since Baz has fed. 

And he’s fine. He’s handling it surprisingly well. The hunger upon him howls every once in a while, and his fangs are throbbing gently, wanting to clamp into something, _anything_. He’s lying on his back, staring at nothing but wood, darkness and if he squints, more wood. He wriggles, trying to get comfortable but to no avail. This coffin is too snug, too constricting, too dark. (There’s a common misconception that vampires usually like to keep in the dark, both literally and figuratively. Only one part of that statement is true.) (At least for him.) 

He’s always been afraid of the dark, which seems ironic given that he’s… well, _him_. He never liked thinking about what could be lurking in the dark nook and cranny. He prefers the light, although the touch of it burns, setting his skin alight.

Baz supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised that he likes the danger of fire. Perhaps it explains why he’s so drawn to Snow. Snow is the sun, light personified. His skin is a star marbleized, with drops of gold littered on his shoulders, his neck, and chest. (Snow has freckles everywhere. It’s the bane of his existence.) He wonders what touching his skin would feel like. Not like the harsh, bruising way they do it. Fingertips gliding lightly on his arm, tracing the blemishes on smooth, fair skin. Would his hair stand up from his touch? Would Simon Snow shiver while being touched by his sworn enemy, like he was something fragile? 

Baz shuts his eyes close, willing those thoughts away. He shouldn’t be thinking of Snow like that, when he’s currently being starved to death (or _un-death_ ) by fucking numpties. He focuses on sleeping, straining to listen to the sounds of the woods outside. He doesn’t know exactly where he is but he can hear crickets and lake water sloshing outside. After a while, the rustling of the trees and the faint, gargling voices of his captors calms him down but it doesn’t lull him to sleep. He closes his eyes anyway. 

* * *

A couple of days pass and he feels dead. Even more dead than the usual. His eyes sting whenever he opens and closes them. His stomach keeps twisting painfully and his ribs feel like they’re about to cave in inside of him. When he lifts up his hand, his muscles shake and ache. His fangs are fully out now, pointy and heavy on his mouth. Baz takes another shuddering breath and wonders if he could die the second time around.

He doesn’t dwell on it; if there is an end for him. Maybe he should have. He could have found something useful in these trying times. He takes a shuddering breath, trying to remember a certain spell. Just to keep his mind occupied. There’s a tiny part of him that’s terrified that his brilliant mind would rot too, along with his body. 

He might be dying. Baz opens his eyes for a moment, even such a simple task requires a large quantity of his diminishing energy left. Then, he closes it again and in a single, terrifying moment, he feels himself drift away into nothingness. Almost instantaneously, he comes back and his whole body jerks violently. He feels his shoulders tremble, fear’s bony hand gripping at his unbeating heart.

Baz squints his eyes and tries to breathe evenly. He’s so hungry, and his head is swirling with misty memories. All of them seem to mainly feature blood, his and otherwise. He recalls feeding for the first time. How the blood caked in his fingernails. How dirt sullied his wobbly knees. How salty tears stained his cheeks, and how he had heaved his stomach dry but nothing came out. He recalls learning about vampires for the first time in a class, feeling his stomach tumble at how the teacher just casually states how ironic it is that vampires are not alive anymore, but need blood to survive. Professor Saiko had been right, he’s not alive, just living off of the blood of others. But why does he feel like he’s dying all over again?

He tries to think of something, anything else and his traitor mind drifts to the curve of Snow’s nose. He has a distinct nose, Snow. It’s mostly straight except for the small bump on the bridge, almost unnoticeable to anyone but him. (Nothing goes past Baz when it comes to Snow.) He thinks he might have been the one who gave it to him, and it was an accident. He hadn’t meant to punch him on the nose, but rather his idiotic, obsessive fan, who used to follow him around during their first year. (Is he any different though?) Snow, because he is the Chosen One, decided to be heroic and got in between him and his _fanboy_. That was the first and last time they saw what the Anathema had heeded warning of. 

Baz closes his eyes. Maybe he should say sorry to him for that. But it doesn’t make any lick of sense that he would apologize for that one thing without acknowledging all the other shitty things he has done to Snow all these years. Besides, what good will it do? They’re enemies. Snow will kill him when the time comes. And he would gladly accept the kiss of death from Snow, opening his arms warmly for it. And because he’s fucked up, he briefly wonders what it would be like to die by the hand of Simon Snow. Would he cut off his head, thus cutting off all the sinful, yearning thoughts about him in it? Would he stake him in the heart, like he hadn’t been doing it ever since the day they met? 

It’s not good to think of him like this. He’s pretty sure if he had a therapist, he would be a lost cause. But it keeps him going, which is ironic again because loving Simon Snow is a battle he lost before it began. Baz’s entire existence is one big, funny irony. 

He waits for sleep to come, but it doesn’t.

* * *

  
Sometimes, he calls him Simon.

Never out loud. Only in his mind. In his mind, there is a perfect fantasy of him and Snow being friends. In his mind, him and Simon would push their beds together and lie close to each other, the skin of his arm touching against him. The Simon and Baz in his mind sit together during breakfast, comfortably sharing a newspaper or a book to read. The Simon and Baz in his mind are on the same side. And in the final battle, they’re beside each other and not in front. 

The Simon in his mind is scarily real. They have the same fair skin, golden hair, and ocean eyes. They both do this strange head tilt when they’re trying to do their homework without Bunce’s help. But the stark difference is this: the Simon in his mind has a special smile reserved for him, only him. Because Baz is a selfish creature, and he wants him for himself. In this incredibly fake, agonizingly real scenario, Simon would squeeze his hand and rest their foreheads together, before racing into the final battle together. In that alternate universe, they’d both get to live. In the perfect universe, they’d have a future. A future of snuggling up together in bed, fighting over the TV remote, queuing up at the supermarket together, maybe even gardening together, maybe even… shopping for rings together. 

But that was it. Just an alternate version. A version that could have been. A version that could never be. Baz feels delirious with hunger. The nothingness comes crashing down again. This time, it’s longer, more _vicious_. And when he comes back at it, he’s gasping for air. He feels sluggish, like he’d been drowning and just came up for air. He’s so hungry, he might _die_. Usually, he delights himself for exaggerating but this time, he’s afraid because it’s actually happening. It’s slow-going, painfully and torturously so but he could feel it—the dangerously tempting pull. 

No one is coming for him, he realizes that now. His Aunt Fiona might be looking for him but he sincerely doubts she would catch him alive when she does. Well, half alive. 

He thinks of Dev and Niall. They’re probably copying notes for classes for him. Good. 

He thinks of Watford. It’s probably doing fine without the big, scary vampire stalking its grounds. He can live with that.

He thinks of Father. And Step-mother. And his sibling. They wouldn’t care if he was wasted away into a rotting nothingness, probably still thinking that he’s at Watford right now. 

He thinks of Simon Snow, because _of course,_ he does. He wonders if he has noticed his absence. He probably doesn’t. Being a Saviour and all that. Or if he does, he’s probably loving it. He has their room to himself, without the creepy vampire looking around. He can stay up late reading (or plotting). He can get changed in the bedroom, can sit through classes knowing no one is going to be bugging him. With him out of the picture, Snow can take that damn crucifix necklace off and not feel paranoid that Baz is gonna bite him everytime he closes his eyes. (Which he won’t. He would never bite Simon. He’d rather die.) He might look peaceful in his sleep for once, instead of being tense, nightmare-riddled. He’d love to see Snow having a peaceful night's sleep. Curled up on his side, arms tucked in, a gentle smile on his lips, his eyelids fluttering as he dreams. No nightmares, no sleeping with one eye open, clutching the crucifix. He’s probably doing Snow a favour right now, at least one of them’s having a good night's sleep. He imagines the rhythm of Simon’s breathing, the comforting rhythm he’s grown so used to. It’s always been hard to sleep without the sound of Simon’s breathing. But it’s harder now knowing he may never get to hear it again. He thinks of Simon sleeping, in those cute Watford pajamas he practically lives in, and pictures his chest gently rising and falling. He matches his own breathing, putting his hands to his chest to feel the movement. He pictures himself beside Simon, their hands laced together. 

The hunger must be really bad because this almost feels real. Maybe dying right now wouldn’t be so bad, if he can feel like he’s dying in the arms of Simon Snow. That was always the dream wasn’t it? But wouldn’t it be even better, if he could live in the arms of Simon Snow? 

He shuts his eyes close, feeling like he’s losing his mind. He wants, he aches so much that he wants to scream until his throat is hoarse but he’s so thirsty, so _hungry_ that opening his mouth feels painful. He’s going to die, and—

“Still awake?” 

That voice. The voice he knows better than his own. The voice he hears in his nightmares as well as his dreams. Baz opens his eyes and just as he thought, Snow’s not there. 

“Yes, and delusional too, apparently.” Baz mutters to himself. then closes his eyes again, to see Snow fade into view beside him, in front of him. He’s never seen Simon this close before, well, never seen Simon this close and not been in a fight. He’d never even dared to imagine Snow this close to him before. _Those fucking numpties._ He’s had such a great track record of fighting off the thoughts of Simon Snow until now. 

Simon is so close that their noses are touching, and although he hasn’t fed for days now, he still feels warmth spread throughout his body. He can see the moles and freckles map his face like a cluster of stars. He lets himself rest his trembling, cold hand on his cheek. He huffs out a laugh. 

“Can’t you sleep?” Dream Simon asks him gently, and he aches. He shakes his head and despite his better judgement, Baz allows himself to get lost in the gentle blue of Simon’s eyes. It’s so blue, earnest and true. 

“I wish you were real,” Baz whispers, then cringes almost as soon as the thought leaves his mouth. A slow, knowing smile spreads on Dream Simon’s face. Damn him and his beautiful eyes and adorable smile for making him soft. Aunt Fiona would disown him in a heartbeat if she could hear him now.

A stab of hunger flares up in his stomach again, and the perfect vision of Simon quivers a little. He squints his eyes desperately, and sighs in relief when it comes back. 

“Have you tried counting sheep?” 

It was such a Snow thing to say that it makes Baz laugh sharply, memories flash back to their first night together, before The Mage had gotten to Simon, back when he was so adorably oblivious he didn’t see Baz as the enemy. They’d both been struggling to sleep that night, and Simon Snow wouldn’t shut up about sheep. 

“It doesn’t work for me. Just makes me hungry, thinking of those big, thick, fleshy bodies…” Baz can feel his fangs beginning to protrude from his gums. 

He feels Dream Simon punch him in the arm and squirm as he groans, “Ew, Baz, no. Not the sheep!” 

Baz laughs again. He reaches out his hand and threads his fingers through Simon's golden, curly hair. 

“What normally sends you to sleep?” Dream Simon asks. 

He thinks back to all the nights he’s slept near Simon Snow. All the nights as he’s watched sleep take hold of Simon; all the nights he’s listened to his breathing; all the nights he’s gone to sleep with a smile on his face, because he’s been gifted with another nights sleep in a room with Simon Snow. 

“You,” He feels like one of those people in their deathbeds, speaking their truth before they die. And in a way, it’s the truth so he might as well say it now. “The sound of your breathing, the feel of your presence. The knowledge that for several hours I get to be with you, and not have to pretend to hate you. The feeling that for a short time each day, I don’t feel so alone. That I’m with you and we’re not fighting.” 

“Focus on that, Baz,” Dream Simon whispers, his voice sweet like honey, but clear. “Stay alive.”

He does, spending all his remaining energy into doing exactly that. He looks down at Simon, to see his eyes are closed, his face relaxed, and Baz can hear him breathing. He holds Simon close, and listens to the familiar rhythm of each breath. _I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and it’s killing me_ , he thinks as he feels relief wash over him. _I’m in love with you and it’s the only thing keeping me alive._

As he listens, his body relaxes, and feeling his fangs retract. His eyelids become heavy, and there’s no thought in his mind other than the image of holding Simon in his arms, or being held in his arms. He’ll take what he can get. As he drifts off, he can almost hear Simon whisper, “Sweet dreams,” in his ears. Perhaps, if he wakes up from this, maybe he can change their ending? 

Baz smiles and mutters one final thought, “I can dream.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> title is from guillotine by jon bellion & travis mendes 
> 
> thank you for reading! leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it! 
> 
> [em’s tumblr!](https://thepurplemu24.tumblr.com)  
> [kam’s tumblr!](https://kamwashere.tumblr.com)


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